daringdynamo - Tumblr blog

[daringdynamo]

nomenque erit indelibile nostrum.

And my name shall never be forgotten. (Ovid)

[daringdynamo]

a g e n t  s a x o n

-

your attention.

he must smile at this. foolhardy creature, astute to everything but what is obvious. they’d had his curiosity from the onset, when they declared herself princess of the pantheon when she was still but a fledgling to the organization, kept it when she proved her mettle further, undeterred by his testing and prodding in seeing how far she could swell and draw herself long if pushed. he was never disappointed. 

“and? what would you do if you had it?” still, he nudges further, always ravenous for an answer to his inquisition, answering every answer with another question. old habit, borne of juvenile defiance, nurtured into a way of probing for further intel in adulthood, then as a method of training and teaching as a titan. its never lost its taunting lilt, and now, when it is neither defiance nor teaching, what is it? “prinsesse, i am always enjoying myself. more than most of our peers, i would say. even in my grief.”

“how well i know you?” he echoes, nearly incredulous. “don’t i have cause to be arrogant in this regard, hm? i very much enjoyed myself in new zealand.” lifts his head up when the room opens itself with greeting spearing lights and aplomb - a vast view of the marina piccola, and the sweeping horizon behind it, and he nearly forgets his grief, even if only for a moment. plucks his cigarette from his mouth, presses it to the waiting ashtray on the coffee table. heartening, the sight of natural beauty, vibrant life, waiting and thrumming. 

he turns to evren, a semblance of gratitude a solemn writ struck through his face, faint smile curling his lips. “thank you. this was needed.” this is as much as an admission as he’s capable of, of any sort of hint as to his own anguish throughout the past months, his purposeful isolation. smooths the hair from their forehead, thumb pressed to the side of their cheek. “for a boy raised chin deep in dirt, this is more luxury than i would have ever dreamed of deserving, evren. but. is it even good enough to offer back to you, i wonder? up to your tastes?”

♦

a n d? 

his curiosity was insatiable, nearly as much as her hunger for complete and utter perfection. their bright eyes flickered between his, lip trapped between their teeth as they think of whether or not to satisfy his hunger with an answer. what would you do if you had it? it was a dangerous question to ask. posed to the wrong person, any question could prove to be rather dangerous, but with  evren the answers are so very rarely what people hope to hear. never before had she truly cared about an answer that was given - and yet, their lips part as they weigh the answer that’s on their tongue. 

“make sure that it never strays to any other. hoard it as if  it were gold. what wouldn’t i do if i had your attention, always?” they purr, fingers idly trailing along the back of the chair as they sashay towards him. a small smile steals across their face at his confession, pausing in their steps as they glance away from him, in the hopes that he might not see the satisfaction that painted itself across their visage. “let me distract you from your grief, amore, for as long as we’re here. let me be greedy with your attention. let me hoard it.”

who else, but agent saxon, would turn the princess of pantheon into a beggar?

it is then that they turn their gaze away from him, to look out at the lush blue waters of the italian coast. she could practically taste the salt of the sea on her tongue, could feel the cool breeze caress the curves of her cheek to temper the brutal august heat. and still, their gaze strayed back to him, meticulously noting the details of his face, so that she might see whether this provided any reprieve from the guilt and grief that battered him so. “you have cause to be arrogant,” she admitted, head canting as she stepped closer, idle hands gently straightening his shirt. “but is the arrogance justified? after all, you’ve only visited me once…” but any further words were quickly smothered the moment she felt his touch, porcelain cheeks becoming flushed, their eyes growing round in surprise.

they press their cheek into his touch, unabashedly chasing after the warmth that was offered. the palm of one’s hard was a map that she had learned to read well. every callous, every scar, every line was a tome from which she had learned to glean information. but any such thought was lost in the warmth that his hands offered, so when his question tugged at her attention, she found herself blinking up at him slowly. “far better than what i had expected,” she murmured into his palm, lips pressing against it gently. “the princess quite likes her new castle. it’s a welcome fortress against the world.” it’s a welcome break from dreaming of ways to punish kraken.

[daringdynamo]

a g e n t  o t h e l l o

Dominic tucked away their request in the back of his mind, nodding along. He had grown up, like most kids in the working class south, in a beer-drinking family, so his knowledge of varietals and flavor profiles of wines was sincerely lacking; however, in his time with Black Diamond, he’d at least gotten enough exposure to cover the basics. However, his follow-up was arrested as they continued. He fought the urge to roll his eyes, not in annoyance – never in annoyance – but rather playful dismissal. I did throw this outfit together. He teased. Forgive me for being excited; I’ve missed you and I’d prefer to spend time with you than picking out a shirt.

Their begging, while effective, also made him laugh. They knew how little it took for him to budge, especially with them, and the extra effort was entirely unnecessary. But it did further endear her to him (if that was even possible). To match this, this time he did roll his eyes, stepping closer. The whole week? He asked, incredulous, his signs exaggerated like he couldn’t believe it. That might be a new record. He teased.

He stepped forward and punctuated his retort with a press of his lips against her forehead before pulling his shirt back off and looking through the piles of half-folded clothes for one of his nicer, less wrinkled shirts. He moved to his closet, not satisfied with the selection on his floor, mindful to keep her in his line of sight. He looked through his couple of button-down shirts until he landed on a darker floral print. He held it up and to her, signing with one hand. How’s this?

He pulled the shirt on and buttoned half-way up his torso, tucking it back into his shorts. It left the edges of his chest tattoo visible, peeking out from behind the placket. He walked back over, tossing his tank-top back onto the pile of freshly folded laundry on his bed. He’d refold it later. Okay, he signed. So wine – Sauternes or Moscato?

♦

I’ve missed you. He admits it so terribly easy, as though he were eager to communicate the depth of his affection for them. And Evren might not have thought much about it, were it not for the fact that they knew he was equal parts vulnerable and sincere -- which meant that the words he said were the absolute truth. This, in turn, meant that his sentiment was unabashedly genuine as well. There was no double-speak, no hidden agenda, no manipulations that they needed to be wary of. And that, perhaps, was why when he said he missed her, it was almost as devastating as a knife to the heart. Luckily, for Evren, her heart was carefully hidden and tucked away. Why, then, did it bleed as surely as if it had been pierced? 

They tilted their head upwards, their expression practically beatific as he awarded their pleading with a kiss on the forehead. Following him as he rifled through his closet, they stayed within his line of sight, in case further commentary on his outfit choice was necessary. Still, though, their mind lingered on his statement, turning them over cautiously within their mind. Their musings, however, didn’t distract them from their current mission, eyes narrowing as they scrutinized his shirt. I approve, she signed, lithely stepping towards him to adjust the way his shirt hung while he tossed the other into the laundry pile. All the others will be jealous that you get dressed up for me. Evren didn’t even bother hiding the grin on her face at the thought. 

Their lips pursed as their fingers trace the edges of his tattoo, head canting as she considered the options that he had suggested I think a Moscato sounds lovely, they sign slowly, thinking about the contents in their picnic basket and how it ought to be paired. I think Alfred bought some macarons for us, too. Well -- he bought it for the whole crew but I think I deserve a treat. We both do.

Before he can even think to talk her out of it, the little oracle is already ushering him out the door. No one, no matter how determined or relentless they might be, could ever temper Evren’s insatiable sweet tooth. They had toyed with the theory that it’s why they monopolize Dom as much as they do, for she had never met anyone as sweet as him. 

[daringdynamo]

a g e n t  r o m e o

STATUS. closed, for @daringdynamo​

LOCATION. pompeii, italy

The days were long, but the nights were longer; shedding skin over the celestial bodies, twinkling and dissipating into the skies. Blue lured itself out during the late evening, painting a different scenario onto Dante’s skin — mischievous child turned sour, cold breeze becoming an act of violence. This was the exact reason they refused to remain quiet for too long of an instant: pretending, upholding an image required action. Dante had always been more haunting figure than human, their only salvation a disguise composed of gold plated smiles and laughter so melodic it could only have been a gift sent from heavens above. It was nothing but foolish of them, to let their fire simmer down once the sun did the same. Work, however, could provide just an ounce of the distraction a person of the likes of Dante Desai needed. Their sanity was a prized possession, and yet— it constantly tried to slip away, eager to climb a mountain and declare itself king of madness.

There are flowers in their hair once they reach for Agent Dynamo’s room — always with a wild stare Evren seems to know better than most weapons (and, alas, Dante is used to being seen as a tool for destruction). They knock with a cheerful disposition, smiling their way into Evren’s good graces. The Oracle is, perhaps, the only resemblance of childhood Dante wishes to recall; a devil so daring it could only belong near their heart. —— Pray tell, would you concede me your next nine hours or so? —— the Atlas has a way of asking for things that is both confident in its pretense and charming in its annoyance, and they are mostly aware of the eye-rolling session that is to come. —— Last time we were together in Italy, we did burn some physical bridges. I know we were some daring fourteen-year-olds, but I am sure we can outdo them until four in the morning, no?

♦

the window was open, the cheshire moon smiling down at her, leering at her from its lofty position in the skies. from her position, she could clearly see professor yun’s room, and was able to identify the other eyes that were carefully watching his movements. if they were to place bodies there with him, in an obvious way, they would undoubtedly draw unwanted eyes towards the professor’s position. so looking on, like a vulture watching their prey, was the only option that was really left to them — and it was a rather advantageous position to be left in. they sat in their window, legs dangling merrily, face tilted towards the light of the leering moon. they imagined scene after scene of professor yun being compromised, of using their garrote like the most elegant of brushes and painting the entire room red with the blood of those who sought to impede them. a smile lifted the edge of their lips — they leered right back at the moon. they say that the moon, great goddess that she was, inspired lunacy. they blamed her for the demons that resided in each and every person. but evren knew, in their heart, that the hunger that pervaded them, that stirred the scarlet blood in their veins, should be credited to none other than herself. no celestial body could claim that.

it was with this lazy grin that they turned towards dante, who sported one of his own. the moment that he stepped through the threshold, they felt their countenance ease, yet their heart hammered on stubbornly, still. it seemed to rouse whenever he drew near, to trip and fall and stumble over itself at the sight of their bedeviled smile. “only the next nine hours?” she pouted, shoulders slumping in disappointment. they swung their legs over the window’s ledge, back into the room, nudging aside their rifle. clasping her hands behind her back, she sashayed over to him, eyes already growing round in curiosity. the smell of ash and smoke only stirred her nostalgia — clearly playing into their warm hands. “is dante feeling like he needs to take a trip into the burning fires of hell tonight?”

[daringdynamo]

a g e n t  a l t a i r

cruz could feel evren’s eyes on him, like those of the idolatry inside the church. scanning every slip and twitch. one would guess that so many years carrying a title that entitled such extents of precision and dissimulation would have granted his words more conviction, and his act more credibility. but as diligent of an agent as he considered himself to be, he was not a good performer. especially not there, in front of the fellow oracle, when the scrutiny (as much delight as it gave her) was reminiscent of times spent kneeling before altars, accompanied by the candlelight alone. 

    “i find any amount of sleep i can get restful, but a good night’s like a luxury by now,” he replied, in that reassuring kind of way that was hard to shake off after al these years. he admired their curiosity, their aspiration to decode him and get through him in the safe way they would crack a safebox. but he always found it wisest not to outright hand them the key to it. “yeah-” he sighed, “especially now. why the cynicism? you really think that it’s worth it to miss out on some rest instead? or how else are we supposed to stay in good shape for the jobs?”

    his eyes widened slightly; he offered them a smile, and his posture stayed the same even as they approached. “evren, i assure you that-” the man stopped, ever so puzzled as he found his face cupped. this was evident, with his frown deepening as he spoke. “i appreciate your advice, but it’s just not your burden to carry, okay?” maybe evren would’ve made for a better cleric, given the ease with which she seemed to read the worry on people’s faces. he wondered whether the sheer distance between them were to exist had they had the option to devote themselves to more mundane lives. it was odd, then, how intransparency prevailed between them even when they’d known each other at their most vulnerable selves, through moments where the grips of death and injury brushed past them. sometimes he wished it was not like that, that it instead became second nature to unravel the act keep up before them without hesitating, that they didn’t need a mission for him to place his trust on her hands. but wishing and complying were two different things.

   “i’ll come to queenstown, alright,” the brunet nodded, “and you’ll find i can actually enjoy myself… just not when i’m placed on the hot seat without warning like that. if i join you in your hometown, it’s purely for R&R and not any psychoanalysis purposes, got it?”  

♦

he was so damnably polite. it was stitched into every word, every action. carefully imbued into every aspect of cruz that others were able to gleam. when evren had first met him, they had assumed that the decorum that was demonstrated would eventually give way to something more interesting, something a little warmer, perhaps even be granted precious insight into the inner mechanisms of his mind and heart. evren can’t help but wonder what events in one’s life would necessitate such caution and armor. maybe it is the ghosts of his life before pantheon that haunts him still, maybe the man was simply born without the demons that reside within each person — but such an assumption left a bitter taste on their tongue. no oracle was ever without demons. most of them were.

the reassurances that he offered fell on ears of stone — or, more accurately, evren heard him but opted not to put any stock in his words. if she thought that she might not frighten him, she would have outright laughed at that the thought of missing rest simply because someone died. in fact, evren thought that sleep came more easily to her whenever they heard that one of their comrades had fallen. was it anyone that she cared for, truly? no? then that necessitated more sleep on her part so that they might be more alert so as to protect them. but whatever answer that was forming on their lips died the moment that his frown became more apparent. her eyes flickered between his, scrutinizing him quietly. they pursed their lips, inclining their chin doubtfully. “not my burden? we’re a crew, altair. whatever burden weighs on you, if left alone, will eventually bleed into the rest of the crew.”

“and don’t you think that we have enough wounds to patch up?”

before her words could dig their barbs in too deep, she shook her head, motioning for him to follow her into the wine cellar. there was no way that they would be able to stomach the conversation without the assistance of quality alcohol. after a handful of seconds of silence, they concede with a sigh. “personally, no it’s not my burden. professionally…” they tuck their hair behind their ears, shoulder lifting in a shrug. “we already lost one crew member —” because kraken was dead to her as far as she was concerned, “— and i would rather not have to bear the burden of being the only oracle of black diamond simply because you didn’t take care of yourself properly.”

they turn on the overhead light, stepping towards the wall of quality wines.

“no psychoanalysis. got it.” they pull a merlot from its little cubby, turning the bottle over to read the label. “is that a promise then?” she looks at him, head canting the slightest bit as they smother a smile. a sure sign of their doubt that he would actually keep his word. there was no reason for her to tell him that not many were invited to queenstown, and even fewer were invited to evren’s manor there.

[daringdynamo]

I’d rather just kill.

Alice Notley, from Certain Magical Acts

[daringdynamo]

a g e n t  o t h e l l o 

Dominic was notoriously bad at putting away laundry. It would lie in a pile in his room for days, weeks, until he could no longer bear the eyesores littering the floor. Then, in a whirlwind of previously untapped productivity, he would put them all away, folding and rolling and hanging with varying amounts of care until he could finally see the hardwood again. It was in one of these fits of spring cleaning that Evren found him. He looked up from his spot on the other side of the bed, the door opening registering in his peripheral vision, and he smiled at the sight.

He didn’t see what people were talking about when they said Evren was intimidating. Sure, he was deaf, not blind, so he knew what she was capable of; she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t. But they were never that way with him, never had been. And for that very reason, nothing she could do in service to their cause – or outside of it – would change his belief that she was truly good. He knew the truest part of her, and no matter other’s experiences, he knew better.

So he was happy to see them, and he told them as much often. Their invitation was welcome, and he set down the pile of rolled up shirts on the bed, choosing one at random for the day. He threw on the tanktop and brought his index finger to his lips. Absolutely. He signed, smiling. What’d you pack this time? Do we need wine?

♦

A smile tugged at their lips as their gaze caught onto his, the small oracle rocking from her heels to the balls of her feet in excitement. They had been so intent on traveling and taking advantage of a year of indulgence that they had forgotten how much they had missed home, but more importantly, how much they had missed being home with him. Setting the blanket and basket down, they clicked their tongue, the carelessness of his outfit clashing with their meticulously pieced-together outfit. They had been hoping to take some pictures  —  who would ever think to hide away such a masterpiece?, she thought  —  but their perfectionism necessitated excellence in all things, including the aesthetics of those who sat at the seat of her affection. 

I would love it if you could grab a bottle of prosecco, she signed while looking over his outfit, and another sweeter white, if you can?

Before he could answer, they hold out their hand to stop him, a small pout forming on their lips as they motion to his outfit. Why won’t you dress up for me? they whine, eyes widening beseechingly. This is our first picnic together in forever and you look like you threw this outfit together. She rises onto the tips of her toes, hands clasped beneath her chin. Begging was an artform that she had perfected over the years, and the soft blush of her cheeks, they knew, would add a rather potent means of persuasion. If you do, I promise I’ll behave this whole week. No violent homicide or murderous rampages. I promise.

[daringdynamo]

a g e n t  v e n u s

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. venus shouldn’t have called dynamo with this mission, she should’ve known better because quite frankly she didn’t want to have this conversation but it was too late and evren aren’t going to drop it one way or another. because you see, the thing about someone that used to have feelings and now they don’t is that eventually they’re going to find a person that reminds them that they’re not as emotionless as they thought they were. “evren…”

if venus saw dynamo as a partner, she wouldn’t second guess them, she would know that evren was loyal to pantheon and blowing up a tomb wasn’t their way to go when they decided to kill someone. but evren makes her confused, makes her fight with feelings that she doesn’t want. it’s one think to sleep with someone for fun, it’s another to never want them to walk away from you. the thought that dynamo might have had anything to do with kraken was painful, her heart would break at the thought. “i don’t have doubts,” she didn’t, venus swears that her heart just needed to hear evren say they had nothing to do with this.

an apology was on the tip of her tongue, she didn’t want kraken’s doing to crack whatever they had between each other. no. venus wouldn’t let them have the satisfaction of ruining something else, they won’t take this away from her.  “i apologize, evren.” venus got up from her sit, taking a step toward dynamo. “i should’ve known better.” it was better than admitting she was scared.

“i know,” venus nodded, because that’s how they were trained, cold killers who would leave no witnesses unless they wanted that witness to spread fear about them. venus cocked her head, thinking that dynamo would be insane to leave any kind of loose ends and her curiosity got the better of her as she walked even closer, standing in front of evren and lifting the headphones so they could hear her. “who?” 

♦

evren, she said so softly, so sweetly  — as though the implications of their accusation were something easier to swallow when coated with her honeyed voice. their brow quirked ever-higher as they finally slipped their phone into their pocket, granting seong-min the privilege of their mostly-full and mostly-undivided attention. they couldn’t help but note how adamant she seemed, so much so that the target seemed to be nothing more than an after-thought. it was a shame, because evren had been rather excited to watch venus add another notch to her overall tally. 

they were planning to walk away to pursue the target, had thought that this would be the end of the conversation all-together, since venus was never one to truly argue and seemed appropriately ashamed. but, just as they were about to turn their shoulder, they paused, venus’ voice catching their attention  — and holding it. i apologize, she says. i should’ve known better, she admits. then she steps closer, so close now that evren can see the dark hues of her eyes, the edge of her lips, can admire the perfection of her skin. “hm,” evren muses, gaze flickering between the other woman’s, a cocky smile curling the edge of her lips. gently, they pull seong-min closer, their nose brushing against hers. “if i didn’t know any better, v, i would think that you quite liked me.” their fingers slipped down to her wrist, their thumb absentmindedly brushing over the soft skin there. 

“i don’t think you’ve apologized for anything  — ever.”

their gaze flickers between venus’, the target appearing in their peripheral as he steps back out of the store and continues on his way. still, their gaze remained fixed on their partner’s as they ponder the answer to her question. the answer seems quite obvious to them, but perhaps it was not quite the same for the other agent  — which meant that there was opportunity for the vixen-like princess of the pantheon to indulge in the game a little more. 

“you’re more than welcome to guess.”

[daringdynamo]

date  —  april 27th, 2021

location — cardiff, wales

status — for @ferrantedominic​

    Should one ask Evren what their favorite room was in Cardiff Castle ( a title granted to the home-base by the princess of Pantheon themself ), they would happily state that it was their own room. They were tucked away in the basement free to decorate and design things as ostentatiously and eccentrically as they wanted. Their second favorite room, however, was Dom’s. Not because they thought it was anything special, but because of the person who dwelled in it, the person who had taken the time to carve out space within their life, to carefully tease at the dilapidated strings of Evren’s heart and take them for his own. 

    There are times that she couldn’t help but curse his selflessness  — if he were less so, then they would gladly allow him to be far greedier with their decaying heart. She still had yet to give up the hope that he would one day sink his teeth into something  — or someone  — and learn to relish the taste of the blood that spilled with it. But, truthfully, Evren had enough of a bite to ensure that he would never have to. 

    And for this act of kindness, they regularly raided his closet, donning whatever comfortable clothes that catch their eye. The thievery, though, was often compensated by the food that she brought to him. With a blanket tucked under one arm, and a basket hanging from the other, she strode into his room, eyes sparkling merrily. Want to join me for a picnic? she signs, color staining her cheeks, the pink hues serving as rather incriminating evidence of their vulnerability. For reasons that she did care to dwell on, acts of kindness concerning Dom always had a way of making her feel untethered, as though they were rather frayed. The smile on his face, though, was often worth it. 

[daringdynamo]

date  —  april 25th, 2021

location — cardiff, wales

status — for @reignofhades

    They had been back a handful of days and yet the restlessness that was pervading them made it seem as though they had been shackled in the mansion for weeks. There was something about the mere possibility of stasis that made their very skin itch  — so to stave off the need for any meaningful sense of stimulation, they had started cleaning every possible inch of the mansion. It might irritate Alfred, but, thankfully, the man feared them more than he cared about fulfilling his duties. 

    It was how they found themselves elbow-deep in soap and water, washing the scrubbing away at a particularly nasty bit of charred something-or-other that was stuck to the bottom of a saucepan. They had taken all the necessary measures to ensure that their outfit and their hair would remain unaffected by their cleaning endeavors, but still there was an odd smear on their cheek and suspicious stains on their apron. Looking a bit frazzled and haphazard, they turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps with a frown on their face, their cheeks pink from exertion. “If you are wearing boots and tracking mud in after I just mopped, I will commit an act more heinous than murder.”

[daringdynamo]

📱  evren okada → the big z

evren: have you arrived at your base yet?

evren: was hoping to have the base to myself for a bit

evren: as soon as i got here, everyone else was already unpacking. not a single moment of privacy...

[daringdynamo]

Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text.

from [evren] to [hotter than hades]: i bought some new toys

from [evren] to [ hotter than hades ]: can i test them out on you? :)

[daringdynamo]

ツ ( excited text )

from [evren] to [angel of death]: i found a tattoo artist in new york that i think you’ll love

from [evren] to [angel of death]: have your bags packed and ready

from [evren] to [angel of death]: it’s time for us to run away together <3

[daringdynamo]

a g e n t  c o s m o s

𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙾𝚁…𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙳𝚈𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙾. { @daringdynamo​​ } 𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝙶𝙾𝙳𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝚀𝚄𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂.

         most expect the titan to spend most of his days distant within his office. it has become too easy to retreat in some ways. but there’s the handful of situations in which he allows himself the immerge from those shadows. suit jacket left to rest on his desk chair, italian leather shoes click against the floors as he finally leaves the four walls he has been in since he got back. 

     sleep hasn’t been a friend, more so a foe. it has increased his irritation levels so there’s almost an utter sigh of blissful relief upon hearing of the arrival of evren. he can begin to describe what they are- torn up bloodied fabric being tosses around by the wind. but there’s a common ground, a shaky one, one that may collapse at any conceivable moment.

   but that’s the thing, there was a certainty in the unravelling, something francesco has been without since the tomb. dark hues catch sight of the agent, finding himself on the cusp of smirking but not quite letting it play out across his lips.  “  are you here for pleasantries or should i ready the sparring room  ?  “

    there was something incredibly disconcerting about being seen by someone. not looked at, acknowledged, or visually appreciated  — but known. known as apostles know their god, as the heart knows its final moments, as a prey knows its futility when looking into the eye of a predator. it was as though all her meticulously sculpted pieces of armor were being stripped away, until she was left with nothing but the scraps upon her back and the scars on her skin. and to add salt to the wound, it was by him. it wasn’t by someone with a cutting wit or unrivaled skill, no, it was little francesco, whose mundanity was only rivaled by his bleeding heart. 

    they peel off their rings slowly, a ceremony of sorts before they commence in the wreckage and ruin of their opponent’s skin. they bind their hands, head lifting as his voice catches her attention, beckoning her to turn around and look at him. when they do, they see the slight curl of his lips, their brow furrowing as the playfulness is marred by the sleeplessness painting beneath his eyes in dark, haunting hues. they stride up to him, squinting. 

    “i don’t think i’ve ever found a conversation with you to be pleasant,” they muse, eyes glancing between his. boldly, she lifts her hand, gently pressing it against his cheek, their thumb slowly sweeping the darkness that lingers beneath his eyes. “this win won’t be as satisfactory as the last. i prefer my wins to be earned, not handed to me on a silver platter.”

    their hand falls away and they step back, folding their arms across their chest. “well? hop to it, the sparring room isn’t going to ready itself.”

[daringdynamo]

The Swan, No. 1, Hilma af Klint, 1915.

[daringdynamo]

ＨＥＡＤＣＡＮＯＮ ００１．

agent dynamo considers themself something of an artist, and their victims are the canvas upon which they create their masterpiece. their preferred “brush” so to speak, is a garrote  — the chain that they use to make their garrote is a gold with an intricately detailed crucifix on it, typical of what one might see young christian children wearing at their first holy communion. the chain was given to them by one of the pantheon agents upon evren’s formal induction into the organization.

[daringdynamo]

a g e n t  p o m p e y

they hug him, and he cannot help but exhale a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding–zaid is a bombed out holy city, he is the stretch of salted earth where rome once stood before the flames, before the walls became broken individual stones, and somehow the simple and sudden crushing of another person against him is enough to force him to open his eyes again, to begin the long and arduous process of crawling out from under. perhaps, he thinks as they grin like the devil they are, as they take the cup of coffee from his hands and slide easily into the chair across from him, not everything was buried in that tomb. even if evren makes it beat wrongly, his heart still beats. 

and that’s something, isn’t it? he has to survive–whatever form that takes. 

he bites down hard on his bottom lip, enough that he can begin to taste copper on his tongue, and he shrugs his shoulders. “i don’t really know what i’m doing, to be honest–i just, thought of you and it was the first thing that had made any sense in months.” they place their hand over his, carefully draw their fingers over the bones in his wrist, calloused and scarred where a gun always sits, where they clutch the handle of a knife, and never once is there a hesitation. there is only the steady thrumming of his blood, and a sudden awareness of how long it’s been since anyone touched him like this. 

“i want someone to pay for what happened that day–i want someone to suffer, for every second of every hour that i stood there, useless.” he says with a gentle squeeze of their hand, as he meets their gaze and draws his mouth into a thin line. “and i thought you would understand that. i knew you would understand that.” 

he exhales slowly. “i don’t know what to do with this anger–the battle is over, isn’t it? there’s nothing to be done–kraken is–where they should be, with pantheon.”

♦

there are some things that are too sacred to acknowledge. the name of god ought not to be uttered by mortal lips. those who have seen the face of the almighty wear veils, for no one else should bask in the glory of their euphoria. though they may never utter it aloud, the man that sits before them and the moments that they share is what they acknowledge as sacred, is what they acknowledge as treasured. it was there from the moment that they laid eyes on him, that unutterable thing that knotted them together, that tied their fate to his. they had tried to look away from it, to sever that red thread, to see it as something “less than”. the moment that they made their peace with the way that zaid eclipsed their life was the only time that evren has ever admitted to defeat. as his warmth enveloped them, they knew, without a doubt, that they would do so again if only it meant that he might remain in their life, like this. 

they listen as he explains himself, their lips pressing together as their fingers trail along the palm of his hands. in their line of work, it was far easier to work with calluses. every single one told a story, some of them evren was privy to, others she still had yet to learn about. they knew that if they were to look up while he spoke, he would see the concern etched in their gaze, would witness the peculiar wonder of evren’s heart reflecting  in their eyes. so, they simply nod, taking the occasional sip of their coffee while their fingers trail against his, the hands of killers finding warmth in such a simple touch, all the while studiously ignoring the shudder of their heart. 

the words hang there, on the tip of her tongue. sometimes, i think that you’re the only thing that has made any sense to me in this life. and there, the words stay.

their gaze lifts as he squeezes their hand, coaxing them into looking up at him, a wicked smile ghosting across their features as his words echo in their ears. there was no hymn they had ever heard that was sweeter than this. i don’t know what to do with this anger. revel in it. the battle is over, isn’t it? and yet the war still rages on. “you weren’t useless, love,” they assure him, their finger lifting his chin gently. “what else could you do that might have made the outcome any different? considering the situation, i don’t think that there were many ways that you could have done more — unless you happen to be well-versed in the art of necromancy. no?”

“short of that, i don’t think there is much else to be done about the situation. there is, however, much we can do about your anger.” their eyes flash at that, the wickedness that gleams in their eyes no longer something shackled and carefully tucked away, no, now it blazes in the inky blackness of their pupils. they cross their legs, their bottom lip caught between the pearly whites of their teeth. “it makes you see red, doesn’t it? not neon red, or the red of anger that comes and goes. no, it’s blood red, isn’t it?” evren’s voice quiets as she leans forward, gaze fixated on zaid’s, like a wolf that��s caught sight of its prey. “hm,” they hum as their head cants thoughtfully, eyes flicking over his frame. “that’s why you came to me, isn’t it? you want someone to suffer.”